


the heavens broke open

by collieflower



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Arranged Marriages and the consequential Avoidance of them, Banter, Journeying Across The Countryside With Your Beloved (gay?), Knife Kenma, Knight Kuroo Tetsurou, M/M, Mentioned Violence and Injury, Mutual Pining, Polyamory, Prince Kozume Kenma, Requited Love, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, as a treat, yearning of the requited variety
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29424801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collieflower/pseuds/collieflower
Summary: "They've been promised to each other since they were barely running through halls."Bokuto whistled low and long. He twisted to look out the window, standing side by side with Kuroo. "That's almost as long as this has been coming. Him running, you know."Kuroo's laugh was carried on a disbelieving breath. "Sure has." He shook his head, sighing as his eyes slipped shut. He leaned into Bokuto's shoulder, letting him bear his weight, just a moment. "His mother says that he was always going to do great things." His knuckles rapped against the wood of the window sill as Bokuto chewed over his words."Well," he hummed after a while, "great things aren't always good."
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou/Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 9
Kudos: 20
Collections: Among Friends Server Valentine's Day Fic Exchange





	the heavens broke open

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shinycrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinycrash/gifts).



> this is a gift for ju!!! happy valentines, i hope you like this <3
> 
> this is how i learned that you can't write a short fantasy au :)
> 
> so please bear with me omg, i don't consume much fantasy media so this is lowkey based off of what i remember from the witcher, taken with a grain of salt and much grace __rt i know you saw the summary, but do me a favor and look away <3 <3 __

In the same way man does not ponder their eyes until they are shrouded in darkness, he does not understand the extent of his blessings until he is left to mourn the loss.

Magic had been born and burrowed into the world it called home long before man learned to stumble and speak among themselves. By the time they had learned to run, they had taken the magic and utilized it for their own. A gift not intended, but taken in turn.

The origins of such a thing were unknown, stretched so far beyond the feeble memory of man that it’s as if it had always been. Fire summoned from nothing, rain crashing to plains in times of distress and drought.

Their gifts became a part of the very thread in the tapestry of their history. Women with insurmountable strength, men who could heal injury with barely a touch. Heroic tales were told time and time again, passing from mouth to mouth until myth became legend and heroic tales became fact, became history.

It was less a gift than a tool, honed from the earth and its waters, but bestowed upon man to aid in his struggle until it was tired and worn. A broken bucket patched far too many times was magic bound by man. The walls of the bucket kept them close, but the water dripped.

One day, perhaps, it would run dry. For now it rotted, and the stagnant water grew bitter and old.

Maybe it was fitting, a tool reflecting its master. One day the bucket’s usefulness would have been all used up, and it would be cast aside.

Man would eventually outgrow magic. Kenma could already see it. Places like Nekoma were already so far removed it seemed like their history was a distant dream, the kind that you keep your eyes closed after you wake up, just in case it comes back.

Kenma was currently wide awake in _this_ waking nightmare.

If he encountered one more _well meaning_ person who approached him, asking after his parents, or if he was even old enough to be allowed out on his own like this, he would put his pretty dagger to work for him.

After some time to rest, though. It was difficult enough to slump onto the barstool, but wrestling the pack heavy on his shoulders? That was a different matter. If Kenma had to put a wager on how long he could survive like this based on the weight of his pack alone, he’d guess that he could make it through the winter at _the very least._ If he didn’t know any better, he would almost believe he’d been carting around a full grown man in there. As if any second now someone was going to pop out by his shoulder and demand where they were being taken.

For now, they were going _nowhere._ He was bone-tired from a hard day’s ride and aching through every inch of his body to prove it.

He'd been on the road six days, now. He'd slept on the ground twice, bathed in a river, and endured plenty of people on the way. His hair was worse than a rat’s nest, and yes, he was sure that if one more person spoke to him, he would run them through with his pretty dagger.

It would give him a chance to put all of those hand to-hand combat lessons Kuroo has drilled into him to good use.

There was probably a lot to learn from this trip. A lot of life lessons that he probably should have been paying attention to – but what stuck out most in his mind so far was this: if there was one thing in this life Kenma despised more than anything else, it was travelling alone. It was a newly discovered hatred, but that in no way took away from its heat of its flame.

Forbid there ever be a rematch of his particular circumstance, but next time, like _hell_ was Kenma going to be travelling by himself. 

Oh… he wondered if he could get away with falling asleep here with his cheek squished into the bartop. Surely he could fend off a pissed off barkeep trying to rouse him or curse him away.

Another life lesson: you could never underestimate the value of coin in the hands of those who have none—or the ones who had plenty and bigger appetites because of it.

Didn't much matter, Kenma guessed. The owner would probably let him piss on the stairs for a gold coin, he was hardly worried about the cost of a few moments lost to a bit of sleep.

The inn was terribly warm thanks to the fire blazing at the end of the hall, and the bodies occupying the tables. The light was low, and the bard in the corner played a mournful ballad, probably drawing patrons in with his intimate volume.

If Kenma closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that he was home in the great hall, with chatter clogging up his ears and a belly full of good food. In this fantasy, he would be piling a plate high, wrapping it up in a cloth to take to Bokuto. He'd say just how tired he was, and Kuroo would escort him to his chambers, tell him to keep safe as he left Kenma to his own devices.

Six days was a terribly short time to miss someone so acutely.

Kenma had thought he'd be fine on this journey. He'd unlocked his chains, and instead of running, he was struggling to stand.

He didn't know how long he had left on his journey. He was given no maps or timeframe, and barely any direction. His way was guided by a tiny pendant enchanted in ways Kenma had yet to fully understand.

Bokuto had given the pendant. _This_ little thing was to be his map. His guiding star. It was a precious stone cradled in thin silver links all twisted round so the runes carefully etched into its surface were barely visible.

The shape of the individual runes were familiar to Kenma, but he couldn't conjure the meaning of them summed together. Even his books told nothing of them. Bokuto told him that it was the spell to bring him home, and he didn’t need to worry himself too much with it. Kenma did very little but worry these days, what was one more card to add to the stack?

The pendant hung around his neck, pressed between his chest and the bar, kept close to his thudding heart. It hadn't been a gift, but it was his saving grace. How amazing that such a tiny thing could inspire such hope.

It was nearly two months ago that Bokuto dangled it in front of Kenma's nose, grinning like the fox that dug his way into the chicken pens.

_"For when you make your big escape,"_ he'd said, swinging the necklace back and forth, like they'd seen the travelling jesters do when they came into town, tricking old ladies out of their potatoes and making young men cluck like chickens. Parlor tricks to work on feeble minds.

Kenma was no weak mind, but he did take the pendant in the end. Borrowed. He borrowed it, because he had every intention of forcing it back into Bokuto’s hand the next time he saw him. When they were all back together there was little need for things like tracking spells and worrying after one another.

When they were all together there would be little need for travelling, as well, and certainly not alone. He wouldn't lie to say he wasn’t excited for it.

Still.

He'd been on this journey six days. In that time he'd nearly lost his horse, accidentally dropped his cloak in the river, and gotten a terrible crick in his neck from sleeping with the damp cloak as a pillow. He'd been bothered by plenty of people, but also…

Never in his life had he seen so much magic.

Sometimes there would be performers in the castle, dazzling everyone with magic they never had the fortitude to dirty their own hands with. Women who could fall through floors, men who could make whole boars disappear. There was once someone who stole the light directly from every inch of the room, leaving them all in night as dark as pitch and twice as thick, only to bring them back in brilliant colors and patterns.

The nobles were quick to indulge in immorality as long as it was beautiful.

They were quick to cheer and praise when it was a party trick reserved for fools and entertainers. That was largely the magic that Kenma saw growing up. The tricks and the jokes. The easily digestible frivolity that was welcomed in only on condition of foolery.

Kenma could stoke a fire with his hands and he was called a child. He could raise a bolder half buried in the earth with barely a word, and he was scolded.

Magic wasn't fit for nobility, much less for royalty. It was for those who had never learned to control their tempers. The ones whose anger could level a village as mothers fell to the ground in mourning.

Magic was not fit for proper people. It was in no way appropriate for a prince.

He supposed neither was running away from your kingdom, or a marriage, but really, Kenma wasn't keeping track at this point. It was foolish for a man to write his sins down for the executioner to find them. Kenma kept his close to his chest, only shared between the lips of him and his lovers'.

And since they were no longer at his side, he would keep silent, and he would watch.

He would run, and he would hide. Kenma would run until he was tucked away in the trees and in the arms of someone trusted.

Those arms belonged to a man named Akaashi. It was foolish to trust a man he had never met before, he would admit. But there was kin in likeness. There was trust in bonds.

Bokuto trusted Akaashi, so Kenma would trust Bokuto until he could see Akaashi for himself. He wore the pendant around his neck, felt the weight and the strange heat it bore, and he would carry on.

Even under the possibility that he was tripping head-first into the lion’s den. Or that sometimes he had to sleep on the ground.

"Well, don't you look worse for wear?" someone crowed, far too close for comfort. He opened his eyes to see a woman blinking back at him. Blonde hair pooled around her, laying between them on the bar. Kenma thought that if he inhaled too hard he might get a nose full.

He jerked up far too quick for his tired body, and got a protesting ache in return. He hissed a curse, scowling at the laugh the barmaid let out.

"I'm fine," he huffed, shoulders slumping into a comfortable slouch as he looked away. The bard in the corner was still plucking away, but the song had changed. The energy was more ubeat, with patrons clapping along. He had plenty of eyes drinking in the show, but the only pair of eyes Kenma concerned himself with were the ones currently staring a hole into his cheek.

When he turned back, the woman had her chin in her palm, her elbow propped up on the bar.

He frowned, his eyes falling to her bare shoulder simply to avoid her intense gaze. His first urge was to snap at her, a well-ingrained demand for obedience itching to fall from his lips. He'd made the slip or something similar in the first inn he ran across. He'd taken far too many suspicious looks for comfort. That night he didn't get much sleep. He was too worried about the guards that might crash through the door and demand his return to his mother's waiting arms. 

Instead, he reached into his pocket to fetch a few coins to toss onto the bartop.

"Damn, hello." She stilled, blinking down at the silver coins on the bartop between them. "Is this a... _don't bother me type of situation?"_ she asked, quickly gathering the coins and tucking them into her apron. _"I come here for quiet and booze,_ type of thing?" She said it in a deeper, growly voice that told of how many people around here were into that kind of thing. People valued their privacy, Kenma thought such a barmaid would have understood that from the get go.

"I want a room. Please," he tacked on after a pause. "And a bath."

The thought of sinking into scalding water and scrubbing his skin raw was the only thing keeping him sane at the moment.

She grinned at him. Her pointer finger tapped the bar between them. "I can do that. If you need anything, the name's Saeko. Don't hesitate to call me, okay?" She winked at him, and disappeared, presumably to prepare his room.

Kenma turned around, letting the bard gather up his attention like dandelion seeds falling into a brook, tossing but never sinking.The bard was handsome, in a way that caught the eye at first glance but couldn't hope to keep it. His real talent was in his fingers, plucking rhythms into his lute that had people clapping their hands and stomping their feet.

A man sat close to him on the floor. He had a dog in his lap, perhaps the reason he was sitting on the floor at all. He scratched the dogs ears before pulling away. He shut his eyes, swaying this way and that, like he dipped into the brook as well. He rocked with the current, with the lilt in the bard's voice.

Kenma watched him twitch, his jaw jerking up and down.

And the bar disappeared.

The light was still warm, but the scene changed, suddenly stained in the sunset of a land far away. Where there were wood floorings, came the pebbled route up a mountain that climbed higher and higher. The grass rippled and the trees tousled in the winds Kenma couldn't feel.

Someone down the bar cursed, dropping his food back to his plate. He hollered something Kenma didn’t bother listening to, and someone jeered back at him, yelling to enjoy the show.

Kenma couldn't feel the heat of the sunset, but he could feel the ripple of magic course through his shoulders. He settled in the back of his skull like a shiver, reminding him that it wasn't real, demanding that he drop in awe of its sight.

He had seen such sights before, but never this vibrant. It was only if he really looked, could he see the walls of the inn, the doors, or the windows beyond.

But why look at the walls of the inn when he could take in the scene before him? There were birds in the air, and Kenma could see a family of deer down the mountain. A small campsite seemed to be settled between two trees with a fire crackling. The barmaid Saeko stepped through it as if it was smoke. She caught his eyes and laughed, barely heard over the wailing of the bard. She neared him again, propping her hands up on her waist. "Never watched one of Suga's shows, huh?" she asked. Kenma shook his head, not that she was looking for much of an answer. "Yeah, he's pretty talented. He comes by when he can."

"Who's that in the corner?" he asked, eyes flitting the man again. He looked like he was deep in concentration, but his hand was still petting behind the puppy's ears.

"Oh you noticed him, huh?" She said it in an obvious tone of voice. One designed to say _look this way_ before someone found themselves suddenly penniless on the walk home. "That's Chikara. His magic's not all that powerful, but his illusions are pretty good, don't you think?"

Kenma nodded absently. His eyes tracked to the side, catching the movement of a little squirrel running through the grass and up a tree. "I wouldn't say this is weak," he offered, voice dropped low.

Saeko shrugged her shoulders and leaned her hip back against the bar. "It's true, I guess. It does make them a fair bit of coin." She gestured to a patron all too eager to toss their coin the bard's way. She looked back to him expectantly. He could feel it in the hair prickling up on his nape. His hair was well beyond his shoulders, and shook free as it was, draped to narrow his vision. "I fixed up your room! And your bath will be ready soon."

“Oh. Thanks.”

She clicked her tongue. He thought there was probably a wink there, too. "Head up any time you need." She left him with that, picking up a spare mug on her way.

He pooled in on himself, barely listening to the song anymore as he turned back to the bar. His eyes slipped shut, taking a moment to himself. He wished he knew how many more day's journey he had. A fat lot of good Bokuto's _you'll know when you get there_ was. Bokuto was always gone from the castle weeks at a time when he visited Akaashi. There was no way that it took that long to reach him, right?

Maybe Kenma should have paid better attention to the route and the details Bokuto mentioned between kisses. There was only so much information Kenma could take from Bokuto when they were stuck in the little corner of the stables, using their tongues for other things. Fuck. Of all the details discussed over and over again, some of the most important were always left out, weren't they?

He opened his eyes when he realized the singing had stopped.

The bar was back to normal, too. Chikara's illusion was gone, and they were busy gathering up the coin they'd earned for their work.

Kenma slipped off the bar stool, wrapping his cloak a little tighter around himself, before heading to his room. The stairs squeaked when he put his weight on them, but the door to his room opened silently enough. It was bare, with barely a bed pressed up against the far wall. But the tub was full, with steam rising off the surface and curling in the candle light

Like a lead weight had been lifted off his shoulders, Kenma slipped off his cloak, sighing as he pulled his clothes off his aching body.

The bath would be nice. It would certainly be good to wash out his hair. Bokuto wasn't here to put it up in a pretty braid to keep it out of his face and free from tangles. He was left to comb it free and let it drape down his shoulders.

He wondered if Akaashi knew how to fix hair like Kenma's.

There was a lot he didn't know about Akaashi. A lot of Kenma's trust was put in Akaashi's hands, a delicate glass spiderweb carefully crafted. He might cherish that trust, keep it in gentle hands.

He may crush it just to watch it fall.

Only time could tell, really.

Right now Kenma didn't care. He sank into the tub until the water came to his nose. Tomorrow would be another hard day, so tonight he would rest.

-

Now, maybe it was just wishful thinking, but Bokuto could almost mark the moment Kuroo rode into the courtyard. A buzzing in the back of his head, something shifting just a hair closer to comfort and how the world was meant to be.

Kuroo carried with him the energy of a thunderhead, the buzz and hum that lingered. A tension just waiting for the right moment to snap.

Which couldn’t be too bad. All things considered, there weren’t a lot of ways his day could get worse. He already Knows sat in a cell, his back still throbbing from the lashes they whipped into his shoulders. He’d spent the day being taunted and jeered at, since everyone was _so_ eager to assure him of the anger Kuroo must undoubtedly be boiling in. He would be so angry, wouldn’t he? Bokuto was the one who put Kuroo's life on the line. He was the one who took one of his most treasured friends, only to give him the horse’s reins and send him away in the dead of night.

In that limited outside view, it was reasonable to assume that Bokuto was fucked.

The guard who sat by the stairs came by when he was bored. He’d been very quick to warn Bokuto that there were a lot of things Kuroo's people didn't abide by. Nothing got in the way of their duty and pride. Bokuto had embarrassed Kuroo. He'd probably take him by the hair and give him a worse time than anything that the guard could do.

Bokuto’s skin ached for a gentle touch, although he would settle for rough fingers hidden by thick riding gloves that creaked with every move. He would settle for Kuroo's anger. He would bear it all, if it meant Kenma got none of it.

Bokuto had never seen Kuroo truly angry, but there was a first time for everything, and Bokuto was ready to brace himself in the gap if needed.

From the tiny window that dropped just above ground level, Bokuto could hear a stirring in the courtyard. A company arriving. Bokuto didn't have to get up to see who it was. The jeer of the guards only confirmed it soon enough.

The guard, the one with slick hair curling around his ears, stood just beyond the bars of Bokuto's cell. His arm hung from the cross section of the bar, a golden apple hanging from his fingers with its juice dripping to the stone flooring. 

"How long do you think you've got, huh?" The apple crunched under his teeth. Bokuto listened to the hiss as he sucked the juice away. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and let his arm drop back down.

He looked pretty easy over there, with his hip cocked out to the side, completely comfortable before Bokuto. "You hear a lot of things about Kuroo's people, you know," he hummed. He dropped to his haunches, catching Bokuto's eyes as he did. "Vicious people, they say. Kuroo's been pretty polite up 'til now. Makes you wonder how long it'll be before he shows what’s really goin’ on up there."

Bokuto picked his head up, taking the guard in. He didn't even have his chest piece on, simply strutting about in little more than the chain under armour. It was clear that he thought Bokuto posed no threat. He dared to stick his fingers in the cage door, tempting Bokuto along like he expected his jaws to snap and would watch with glee.

_“Hey!”_ someone barked. They came down the stairs with quick footsteps descending the stairs. “Kuroo wants to see him.”

Bokuto looked up at that, blinking. He didn’t expect to be summoned for at least another hour. He knew Kuroo would have been hurried to the Queen before he’d even been stripped of his riding leathers. He would be expected to give a strategy on how to pursue Kenma, since apparently regular search parties were doing _fuck all._ Afterwards he would be left to his quarters to bathe and recoup. There was time for speaking with troublesome traitors later.

Wasn’t it too soon?

The guard at the door scoffed, drawing away from the door. “So? Is he coming down?”

The new guy, short and lean with hair down to his chin shook his head. “I gotta take him up.”

”Gah.” He muttered as he unclipped the keys from his belt and chucked them to the newcomer. “Take him. Don’t walk him too fast, though,” he taunted, tossing Bokuto a smarmy grin, “could be his last few yards. Let him enjoy it.”

The newcomer cursed at him, brushing him away as he unlocked Bokuto’s cell.

With every step closer to Kuroo’s quarters, Bokuto felt a bit more weight ease off his chest. He might be angry, but never for long.

Besides, Kuroo could never stay mad at a face like Bokuto’s.

The guard knocked heavy on Kuroo’s door before pushing him inside. No ceremony or fanfare, just the escape of a man who didn’t want to witness a murder or clean up the mess that came after.

Bokuto stumbled inside, just barely righting himself enough to remember to try and calm his heart down before rounding the corner into the living area.

Kuroo sat at the edge of his bed, in just his riding breeches and a thin, dirty shirt that hung off his neck and exposed his collarbones. Amazing how handsome he could look, even with his messy hair sticking up in every direction, stress visibly knotted in his shoulders.

_What a damn sight for sore eyes,_ Bokuto thought, not feeling the slightest bit cowed in how the tension began to loosen from his body.

"Hey, hey, hey look who it is!" Bokuto crowed. He crossed his arms and propped his shoulder up on the wall, trying not to let the sting of his back show on his face. "Thought you were gonna be a few more days. You didn't miss me, did you?"

He watched Kuroo roll his eyes, heard the relieved breath fall from his mouth disguised as a sigh. "Not for a second," Kuroo swore, crossing the floor so he could drag Bokuto into his arms.

The relief was palpable, and he let himself fall into Kuroo immediately. "That's too bad. I'll make sure to miss you less next time, then," his words were muffled into Kuroo's shoulder. He smelled of a long ride and grime. Hopefully the bath that sat in the middle of the room was for him.

When he pulled back to tease him about it, Kuroo caught his jaw in his hands. His shoulders hunched up around his ears as he took in Bokuto's face. Gentle thumbs stroked at his skin, stopping briefly at his broken lip.

Kuroo's thumb soothed over it, and Bokuto didn't have the strength in him to keep from pressing a kiss to the pad of his thumb.

"It's not so bad," he swore. "It's been a few days, it's mostly gone, now."

Kuroo's eyes darkened, and a crease edged between his eyebrows. "Are you saying that makes it better?" he asked, "that it was worse than it is now?"

Bokuto snorted. "If you think that's bad..." He tried to tug his shirt up, but didn't get very far without a groan. Kuroo rounded behind him to gently push the shirt up over his shoulders.

The curse was dark and heady. Bokuto wasn’t ashamed to realize that he enjoyed hearing it fall into the air between them.

It was a reminder of the distaste Kuroo had for seeing Bokuto in such a state. A reminder of how gentle his care was, and how privileged Bokuto was to receive it.

"What do you think?" Bokuto prompted, unwilling to let his throat close up. “They say you're gonna add to 'em. Gonna mess me up real good." He peeked over his shoulder, letting Kuroo peer at the salacious smirk pinned to his mouth.

"Who said that?" he demanded. Bokuto shrugged a shoulder, but the implication echoed between them, bouncing off the stone flooring. With too many to name, why bother? Why waste words on people so set against him?

Kuroo guided his face forward, leaving Bokuto to gaze at the flagstone flooring before his eyes slipped shut. "Well, maybe I ought to," Kuroo mused. Bokuto's eyes fluttered open. He winced, hissing as Kuroo's gentle fingers prodded the edge of a lash. His fingers felt cold to his heated, throbbing skin. "Maybe next time you'd think twice about doing something so stupid."

Gingerly, Bokuto pulled his shirt over his head. He turned to Kuroo, letting the grimy, blood stained thing fall to the floor. "Stupid, huh?" He grinned. "I've never done anything stupid in my life."

Kuroo scoffed. "You can't lie to save your life. Is that what landed you in the stocks?"

"Nah, that was my big mouth."

"I bet so." He sighed, and jerked his head back to the bath. "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."

Bokuto lifted a brow, eyes flicking between Kuroo and the bath. "You're one to talk. How hard did you ride back?" Kuroo didn't answer. "Hm, don't you think it's gonna be strange of me to stumble back to the cell, fresh as a daisy? I'd think that was weird. They warn you against special treatment, don't they?"

"Don't be an idiot, Bo." Kuroo steered him over, prodding at him until he was naked and sat on the low stool beside the tub.

Bokuto watched as Kuroo fetched a washcloth and dipped it in the water, wringing it out before he began to scrub at Bokuto's skin. He was gentle around his bruises, and didn't dare touch his back yet. He watched with a sharp eye for any changes to Bokuto's expression or pained winces. Such careful attention Kuroo paid to his duties, even the ones he took upon his own shoulders.

"They sure did a number on you, didn't they?" He frowned. Bokuto reached up to press a finger to the crease between his brows, but it stayed, stubborn as ever.

"Course they did. It's a capital crime to sabotage the throne. I think somebody mentioned treason at one point. Dunno, was focused on the blood loss and keeping my mouth shut."

The washcloth drifted up, pausing just below his clavicle.

Bokuto took his wrist, drifting higher until he wiped at the grime clinging to his throat. "They said I might even be up for a hanging."

The cloth slipped from Kuroo's fingers, falling to the floor between them with a wet smack. Kuroo's fingers curled, loose and hot against Bokuto's throat, his thumb stroking against his pulsepoint. He was so close that Bokuto thought that just a hairsbreadth closer and their noses would brush. They shared breath, and Bokuto didn't have the strength to even think about looking away from his eyes.

"Tell me what happened."

Bokuto blinked up at him. He pulled away, trying to find room to find a decent breath. "Thought they would've been all over you to tell you. This is your neck on the line, after all. Maybe they wanted a laugh."

Kuroo rolled his eyes. "Kenma's gone, stable boy's fault," he deadpanned, quoting other's words that have been ringing in Bokuto's ears for days. "They said that they should have known not to trust a magic user, that you'd sooner set the castle to flame than choose the honorable thing to do." His mouth thinned into a severe line.

"The irony is kind of funny."

"No, it isn't."

Bokuto snorted. "Well, sure it is." His fingers tapped along his thighs, and suddenly he felt every bit as exposed as he was under Kuroo's stare. “His time here ran out.”

Kuroo picked up the washcloth and stood up, moving to Bokuto's back. "Why didn't you go with him?" A loaded question if Bokuto ever heard one. His voice sounded tight in his throat, like his white-knuckled grip against the dirtied washcloth. He seemed to have expected Bokuto’s silence, but didn’t try to pry him out of it.

He rinsed the cloth and disappeared from Bokuto's vision.

"You wouldn't have ended up like this if you'd gone with him," he said, sounding like a father giving a good scolding. Bokuto's ears burned, ashamed like he was the one who bound the reeds together, intent on stinging his own shoulders.

"Was I supposed to leave you behind?" he asked. His thumbnail scratched the palm of the opposite hand. He dug it in sharp when Kuroo dripped the water down his back. His hands were calloused and rough, but easy against his sore skin. Bokuto couldn't decide if he wanted to lean into the hands or jolt away from the sting.

When he spoke, Kuroo's voice hovered in his ear. "It seemed like that was the plan, wasn't it?"

Bokuto couldn’t help the sigh that tumbled from his mouth. "Strategy," he corrected, dipping his head back. "You knights were supposed to learn a thing or two about that, right? Think I remember that part."

There was an opportunity there for Kuroo to take the knife offered to him. It would be easy to twist the blade into the soft underbelly of Bokuto's pride, but it was by Kuroo’s hand that Bokuto was given the first real shred of mercy he’d seen in weeks.

“You must have skipped that lesson.”

“Probably,” Bokuto laughed. “So what do we do now? Sneak out the same way Kenma did? Drop over the wall in a basket?”

“I’m surprised he was able to get away at all, with you planning the strategy.” Kuroo dropped to his knees, sighing with the motion. “I see why you waited for me to leave.”

“Nah, that wasn’t it.”

Kuroo hummed. “I met with the Queen,” he told him. “I’m supposed to go and get him back. They said you know where he went.”

Bokuto took in a breath. “Well, sure I do.” He braced the heel of his palm against the edge of the stool, hunching in on himself. “I’m not telling her where he went.”

“Akaashi, right?” Kuroo asked, voice pitched in little more than a whisper, just in case the walls had ears. Bokuto said nothing, but the answer was obvious. There was only one destination they’d ever discussed like this. In their collective fantasties where Kenma was free to do as he wished, and they could all have as much of each other’s company as they could stomach.

It was always to Akaashi’s. The world inside a world made just for them.

“There had to have been something closer for him to run to.”

“Sure,” Bokuto admitted. “But Akaashi’s is the safest place in the world for Kenma, no one would ever think to look there. And it’s good for him, you know? Akaashi can help him out and teach him lots about the little things that he’s missed out on. It’s the perfect set up.” He puffed out his chest, proud of himself for formulating such a situation in the first place.

“You’re right.”

“Thought you’d be used to it by now.”

Kuroo pinched his thigh in retaliation. “So I asked you on my own, and still you wouldn’t tell me anything.” Kuroo’s hand settled on his waist, shaking his head sadly. ”Which is why I asked to bring you with me. To lead the way.”

“Oh yeah?” He twisted on his stool to face Kuroo, his wrists draped over Kuroo’s shoulders. “And what if I don’t want to? What if I like lazing around in a cell all day, hmm? Three square meals in there, you know. _And,_ didn’t you hear? I’m a powerful sorcerer, Kuroo,” he touted. “You can’t make me do anything I don’t wanna do.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.” Bokuto wiggled his fingers in front of Kuroo’s nose, _ooh-ing_ and _aww-ing_ as he did. “I could melt your face off with my bare hands.”

Kuroo huffed a laugh, pressing in until Bokuto’s fingers grazed his brow bone. “Try,” he challenged.

“Ah, uhm. _Well,”_ he stammered. “The moon isn’t in the right position.”

“It’s just after noon.”

_“Exactly!”_

“So you’re defenseless. Well, isn’t that too bad?” Kuroo’s eyebrows raised, and his hands fell to Bokuto’s thigh, fingertips pressing into his skin. “I have permission to drag you out kicking and screaming if I have to.”

“Thought you were supposed to be charming, Kuroo. Couldn’t you seduce me and be done with it?”

Kuroo snorted, ugly and loud. It was music to Bokuto’s ears. Kuroo took him by the back of the neck, pulling him a bit farther as he stretched up on his knees. “I’ll have the healer come up to look at your back while I make preparations.” He dropped his voice low, murmuring in the tiny space between their lips, “Pack light, but don’t leave anything behind that you would miss.”

Bokuto grinned, gripping Kuroo’s arm. “C’mon, Kuroo, gimme a little credit here.”

He pulled away, pushing up to his feet. There were wet patches on the knees of his breeches. “I’ll be back. Finish cleaning up, and I’ll send for the healer.” He dragged his knuckles down the line of Bokuto’s jaw before he made to leave.

Bokuto scoffed. “You’re one to talk, you know!” he hollered after him. “You _reek,_ Kuroo!”

-

Akaashi was doing the mending when he felt it.

Some thought that he spent all his days gathering herbs and cooking them up into curses in big, scary cauldrons. He had other, more mundane things to do. Such as his readings — and _chores._ He was too busy to terrorize the countryside, thank you. No one else was going to fix the rip in his favorite pair of pants.

It was pitiful work, but he was good with stitches for the most part. It wouldn’t be _pretty,_ but they would be functional.

He sat by the window, listening to the birds and his own cursing over pricked fingers when he felt a tingle down his spine, his hair pricking up at the ends. The awareness spread, humming through him like the crackle before a storm. He tossed the mending to the table and slipped from the windowsill, barely taking the time to shut the window before he sunk to the floor.

He and Bokuto were good at this kind of magic. The kind where a simple bit of meditation made it feel like the miles between them fell away and they side by side again. It came easy to them and only grew stronger with time and practice.

The message was short, simple in the way a note was scribbled in a hurry and left for another to find. 

The details were sparse, but the idea was received loud and clear.

They were on their way home.

Eugh, he had to get ready for them.

-

Kuroo left Bokuto to make his own preparations. A guard was required to go with him to his home, but they were little more than a sentry tasked to make sure Bokuto didn’t do something stupid like make a break for it.

Useless.

It wasn’t like Bokuto could get much of anywhere, with injuries like his.

The healer had come and gone, giving Kuroo a rundown on their way out. Busted ribs beginning to mend, lots of deep bruising. The wounds on his back would be sore and uncomfortable as they began to heal. He really wasn’t in any shape to travel, especially not riding hard and long for days on end.

They didn’t have the time to stick around, though. As far as the Queen was aware, Kuroo was on a mission to retrieve her son. Kuroo — Kenma’s _guard —_ was supposed to recognize the importance and gravity of such a mission and would treat it with respect and urgency.

They’d made it clear from the very beginning, even before Kuroo stepped foot in this court: if his conduct was found lacking, it would be his life.

He’d already been warned after the first few times Kenma had managed to slip away under Kuroo’s careful watch. He could already feel the noose tightening around his throat.

Kuroo was no diplomat, no one important in the ranks of his homeland. He might be missed by friends or perhaps a family member, but nothing would come of his head adorning a pike. Others who were more capable would be sent after Kenma, and they would make the effort to get him back. There were rewards for that kind of thing, and with Kuroo’s blood spilled over the steps of the courtyard, there was a competitive spirit to fill the space as Kenma’s faithful companion.

Kuroo felt the weight of Kenma’s own plight on his shoulders. The ropes were tightening. They didn’t have time to wait around.

Bokuto understood this. After he spent a few hours buried in pillows and warm blankets, sleeping so soundly he hadn’t sirred an inch as Kuroo moved about the room. Eventually he roused himself from Kuroo’s bed and left to gather his things. Important but light, Kuroo reminded him. The little things that could be shoved into a bag, those things that his heart couldn’t bear to leave behind. Kuroo knew Bokuto didn’t have many things to his name here, but still he worried. He knew of the little gifts Bokuto’s… his _Akaashi_ had a habit of giving him. Little trinkets and handmade ornaments, things like hairpins Kuroo had never seen Bokuto properly use.

It was the stacks of letters that would take up the most space. Little bits of Akaashi’s heart delivered right into Bokuto’s hands, an essential weight at the bottom of Bokuto’s pack.

Kuroo had seen those letters, he’d been given the opportunity to behold some of their words.

If Bokuto didn’t take them, then Kuroo might. Not that it was ever a real worry. There hadn’t yet been a world invented where Bokuto would abandon such a reminder of Akaashi’s love for him. Bokuto kept those letters bundled together in twine, precious memories written in looping letters, stained with blotches of ink and the knowledge that it was once held by his beloved.

Kuroo’s preparations ran the same, really. He had a few things, nothing valuable. Certainly nothing that carried very much sentimentality. The only things he could have missed were the material treasures that he kept in his father’s house, a hop, skip, and a jump all the way back to Inarizaki.

Whether or not he would eventually be able to retrieve them was an issue for another time. He had to keep his focus squared.

Food and necessities were prepared for their journey and he sent word to the stable master before gathering his own things.

Kuroo met Bokuto at the stables. His eyes looked tired, and he leaned oddly to the side, but he stood tall, eyes lit with determination. Had Kuroo been in any other standing in the situation, perhaps that look would have made him nervous. For all of Kuroo’s desperation to leave this place behind, there was a fire licking in Bokuto’s eyes.

Every inkling of nervousness he would have felt if he were a part of the search parties, or fitted within the court, were done away with. Because Bokuto was a formidable opponent, but he was sworn to fight at Kuroo’s side.

He was beaten down, and still managed to put an awed spirit in Kuroo’s belly. No matter what trials lay ahead of them, that determination was infectious, spreading through the both of them like wildfire. They made their plan, and nothing was going to stop them from following through.

The two of them were sent off with good faith dripping from their cloaks, and a cautious tension in the air. Kuroo was wished a safe return while Bokuto wiped spit off of his face.

These lands that had given them shelter no longer felt like a home. 

Kuroo was surprised at how eager he was to leave it. He had once come to this place with anxiety in his stomach and bitterness between his teeth. He’d found many blessings here during his stay. Wonderful companions and great blessings. Now it was time to move on.

From atop his own horse, Bokuto caught Kuroo’s eyes. He shot him a look, nodding to the others in the courtyard.

“At least try to look like you’re sad about this.”

Kuroo took his horse’s reins from a stable boy and swung up into his saddle. “C’mon, Bo,” he said, a teasing lilt staining his voice. “Somebody’s gotta keep up the morale, right?”

Bokuto snorted, “Right.”

Kuroo couldn’t wait to leave this place behind. He didn’t even bother to look back.

-

In a perfect scenario, they would be miles away by now, riding as fast as they could bear to run the horses before nightfall. As they were now…?

Bokuto moaned, slumping forward. “Maybe if we made a stretcher,” he offered, the newest of his methods to ease his travelling woes. He’d already gone through a list of them. A dragon to bind him up and fly him home, a magic portal that had yet to be invented to take them there instantly, or perhaps Kuroo could just knock him out cold because _if he was asleep, he couldn’t feel it and therefore couldn’t whine about it — an all around plus, Kuroo!_

And now he wanted a stretcher. Something they certainly didn’t have, or even have the practical ability to make right now.

“I can’t carry a stretcher all by myself,” Kuroo pointed out, adding to the list of cons to this whole suggestion. “You’re not as light as your head makes you seem.”

“My face is looking pretty slim lately, isn’t it?”

Kuroo bit a laugh down. “Sure is.”

“Hmm. No, so we make it out of tree branches and your nice cloak, there. Make it real comfortable—”

“That doesn’t solve the one man issue.”

_“And then we string it between both horses,”_ he plowed on stubbornly ahead. “Then you can just walk behind. Or ahead. Like an escort.” He picked his head up to shoot Kuroo a cheeky smile.

Kuroo met him with rolling eyes. “That’s an even rougher ride. What if the stretcher fell out from under you?”

Bokuto sighed, throwing around a closed fist when Kuroo was riding peacefully five feet away. “Then maybe the ghosts will be better company than you, huh?!”

“So you’re planning to die from falling three feet to the floor?”

“I’m _injured_ , Kuroo! Any foul move, and I could die of infection, or a punctured lung! And then where would you be? What would you tell Akaashi and Kenma?”

Kuroo looked to him with the expression befitting benevolent sainthood. “That I made sure you were in a restful position before I buried you in topsoil.”

He expected a fake cry, or perhaps even a real one, judging by the lengthy pause from Bokuto. When Kuroo looked back at the man, he had to take a moment for himself. The sun was caught in the branches above, falling to Bokuto’s face like finely shaven gold. It caught in his pale lashes, making his eyes shine. “You and Akaashi are gonna get along.”

“Hey,” he said, frowning. “Why were you worried about that? I’m a joy to all who know me.”

Bokuto threw his head back, a full bellied laugh tumbling from his mouth. And that was a reply in and of itself, Kuroo supposed. That didn’t mean he had to take it lying — er… sitting down.

“Should we have taken a carriage for you, Your Grace?”

“We could have gotten away with it!” Bokuto hollered. “They would’ve given us one for Kenma. Delicate princes, and all.”

Kuroo snorted, thinking back to when Kuroo was first brought to the Nekoma palace and introduced to Kenma, the new prince he was to swear his hand to. In the beginning, Kenma took every opportunity to slip away from Kuroo and hide in little known corners of the palace. He didn’t have a hope of putting a number to all the times he’d seen Kenma skittering around walls or diving around corners to avoid him. Kenma knew how to avoid a scolding, while never intended to stop indulging in his wants.

He was good at hiding in plain sight, becoming almost invisible to those who didn’t realize he was one of the most important people in the room.

At first, Kuroo was required to pay attention. It was his job to learn his habits, to hang on his every breath and order. It didn’t take long for Kuroo to look for Kenma out of interest rather than ordinance. He’d quickly realized that he wasn’t the only one. Bokuto’s eyes were always on Kenma. Even with Bokuto’s attention pulled in another direction, those calculating eyes were keeping up with his every move.

If there was anyone that Kuroo trusted to look after Kenma, it was Bokuto. Which is why he couldn’t understand why the man was _beside Kuroo_ rather than making the journey with Kenma himself.

Shaking himself out of that dangerous line of thought, Kuroo scoffed. “Unlikely. We’d travel faster on horses.” Kuroo shot him a conspiratorial grin, and Bokuto was quick to return it. 

Kuroo counted themselves lucky that the area around the capital was densely populated, with towns clustered none too far from each other. It was by this that they were able to find an inn their first nightfall. Bokuto was vocal about complaints, but usually in the way to start up banter, or to try and garner superficial sympathy. Kuroo was glad they were able to spend at least one night off the ground in their journey ahead.

He sent Bokuto up to the room as he settled the tab for their supper.

By the time he’d gone up, Bokuto had found himself a nice home on the tiny bed, looking as if he was already dozing. Kuroo’s map was crumpled half-under his face.

Kuroo kicked his own bag from the floor at the foot of the bed and took its place, sighing as he took off his boots.

Bokuto came back to life with a snort. He scrubbed his eyes and squinted at Kuroo at the end of the bed. “Took your time out there,” he commented, propping himself up on his elbow as he dragged the map back to himself, like he’d been studying it the entire time.

“Hey,” Kuroo knelt by the bed, leaning his elbows up on the thin, lumpy mattress. He tapped Bokuto’s arm, letting the man gather his attention to Kuroo in his own time. Sure enough, those golden eyes flicked to him, pushing the map away from him with a hum. “We’re not going to be able to have this every time, especially travelling westward. There’s a decrease of inns fairly quickly, especially since it’s mostly forests until you get to the rivers.”

From what Bokuto has said, where they were going was dangerous territory, nearly to the border of Inarizaki. If Kuroo had known they were running in this direction, he would have opposed them to the end.

Maybe that’s why they went as they did — to make him follow, stripping him of his choices.

Bokuto shifted carefully to his side, catching Kuroo’s hand in his own. “I know that,” he said, frowning. “I visit Akaashi as often as I can, Kuroo, I’ve travelled here before.”

“I _know_ that.” Kuroo licked his lips, trying to parse his words together, figuring how to bind them together in a way that would hold water, not daring to spill a single drop. “But not like this.” His leveled a weighty gaze to Bokuto’s stomach mottled black and blue.

“I’ll be fine,” Bokuto said. His voice tightened, thickening like flour in milk. He sat up. The wince was well hidden, but Kuroo was used to seeking out the finer emotions hidden by carefully placed masks. “You don’t have to worry about me. This is nothing, Kuroo.”

“If you need to take a while,” Kuroo drove right on, never wavering. “Then we can take a while. Let you heal for a few weeks until you can ride, and then… And then we meet them.” His eyes dropped like a feather falling through the air. He dropped Bokuto’s gaze, tracing the down slope of Bokuto’s throat with his eyes, falling down his body until it rested on the bed at Bokuto’s hip. Unwavering. Sniveling in his own cowardice.

He could feel the weight of Bokuto’s eyes on him, tried not to feel like a stone was pressing him down into the bed. He pressed his cheek into the mattress, watching with unseeing eyes as Bokuto took his hand.

“If you have something to say, it might be easier to just say it,” Bokuto told him. “I mean, I can guess if you want, but it might take a lot longer.”

Kuroo squeezed Bokuto’s hand. “It’s just funny. He plans this specifically for when I’m gone home. Doesn’t leave a–a note, a _letter._ If he–If he wanted to be free of this life. Every bit of it. Even… even _me,_ then you should tell me.“

“I can’t speak for Kenma,” Bokuto said, working the words between his molars. “I won’t. You’re going to talk with him about it yourself.”

He set his jaw, standing on his knees. “Bokuto. If he doesn’t want me to be there, don’t make him send me away himself.”

Bokuto blinked down at him. Confusion unfolded on his face, slowly at first, with a tiny pinch to his brow. Like heated steel, his face kept its shape until the tiny twitch undid him, unfurling every bit of that outlandish face that Kuroo had grown so used to seeing.

“Kuroo, no offense,” he said, squeezing his palm once before pulling away. Before Kuroo could even think to miss him, Bokuto caught Kuroo’s face between his palms, looking down at him like he was checking Kuroo over for injuries.

“What are you doing?” Kuroo huffed, pulling back only enough for Bokuto to still, not to completely pull away.

“Looking to see if you smacked your head while you were gone,” Bokuto answered, simple as you please. “Because I can’t be the only one here, not with the shit you’re talking about.” He rolled his eyes. “Kenma _leave you?”_

“He did.”

“Sure, but not forever.” He scoffed, like Kuroo was the one not making any sense at all. “There’s no way that Kenma would ever send you away. I seriously don’t think that it’s possible.”

Kuroo frowned, tilting back until he was out of Bokuto’s reach. “Kenma sends me away all the time. Remember when he refused to leave his room for a week so he wouldn’t have to see me?“

“Yeah, obviously. But he came back to you, right?”

“He didn’t exactly leave then.”

“Don’t change the discussion,” Bokuto scolded him. The irony of Bokuto keeping him on track smacked Kuroo in the face like a wet cloth. “You didn’t let up either. You were by his side as best as you could be. And eventually he let you back in. Look, Kuroo. It’s you and Kenma.”

He said it like that was it, the end all and be all. The answer to every problem Kuroo put before him. Like it was so simple.

“You do need to talk when you see him, though,” he mused. He laid back down, tucking himself into the bed and pulling the blanket up over his shoulder. “Sounds like you’ve got a few things to iron out there, Kuroo.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good. Now blow that candle out and come to bed. We’ve got to head out early.”

Kuroo got up to do just that before stopping short when he leaned in for the candle. “Come to bed?” he asked. “I’m sleeping on the floor.”

Bokuto shot him a puzzled look over his shoulder. “I don’t want to listen to you moan about your back hurting tomorrow.” He slapped the mattress behind him. “Come on, don’t get all shy on me now.”

Kuroo laughed, blowing out the candle. He climbed on the bed and tucked himself up behind Bokuto.

“You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bokuto laughed. “I’ll run away next time, if you want.”

“Sure. I’ll keep you to that, huh?”

-

Growing up, Kenma was never alone. There were wet nurses and nannies, after that tutors and the occasional guard. After that was Kuroo. He was a requirement, just like the rest of them, but Kuroo was the only one Kenma had ever found joy in.

There were lots of things expected from Kenma. Lessons to prepare him for his future – _Nekoma’s_ future, his mother would say – and people to keep him entertained. The possibilities rarely fell beyond his fingertips. He had the weight of his lineage to throw around. There was nothing beyond his grasp.

It’d been a fortnight, now, since he’d left it behind. The stretch of time was barely anything compared to journeys he’d taken before. When he was younger he and his mother would travel to the mountains every summer. It was to uphold good relations with the political figureheads there. Kenma didn’t mind much. There were plenty of hiding spaces for him to take, tucking himself away with his books and studies. There weren’t many people who dared bother him, either.

He was alone then, but he had never tasted loneliness such as this.

There was a town not far from here. A half a day’s ride at best. It seemed to be thriving as a crossroads of two major roads. There was good trade, and a nice inn in the middle of town. He’d been tempted to stop in for the night, to rest and take the opportunity for a hot bath.

It would be another opportunity to look through wares, paying the vendors from Kuroo’s homeland particular attention. An apology was probably expected, after all. There was a lot to make up for when Bokuto finally brought Kuroo home with him. Kenma promised himself that he wouldn’t apologize. He’d seen the obvious choice and taken it. Kuroo would still probably be upset with him. A gift from home probably wouldn’t hurt to smooth things over.

There were small tokens, carved from stone, others from precious materials. Conductors of magic. Things that reminded him of the pendant around his neck. 

None suitable enough for Kuroo, who didn’t have a single magic current in his body. The old woman paused from where she was trying to show him various color-braided cords to string her pendants, and looked far over his shoulder.

Kenma met her gaze, finding a group of soldiers across the way.

_Hear they’re looking for someone,_ she said, pinning him down with a sly eye. Kenma felt as if he was trapped in listening to a conspiracy from the outside. She told him, in too-loud whispers as she wrapped a cord around his wrist, showing him the contrast of the blood red against his skin, that the word was the prince had run away. In her honest opinion, she says he’s been kidnapped. They’re always coming up with strange ways to start a war, aren’t they? “Expect they’ll be after our boys to fight for ‘em, next.“

Kenma unwrapped the cord and let it drop into her lap. “It sounds like folktale to me,” he told her.

She huffed at that and quickly sent him away now that she was no longer being indulged and he was no longer willing to pry coin from his purse. He tugged down his hood and left her, heading in the opposite way of the guards loitering in the square.

Words spread quickly between hungry mouths.

They work fast. Of course, Kenma had never been gone so long before. He’d never gotten this _far_ before. The woman’s words tossed heavy in his stomach, bile rising in his throat.

With an uneasy stomach, he picked his way through town until he came to the inn to reclaim his horse. He couldn’t stay there now. He couldn’t risk standing still when the wolves were huffing down his collar, their teeth snapping at his nape.

He’d never gotten this far before, and he would be damned if he was going to go back now.

This was Kenma’s last chance. Every breath he gulped in was as sweet as stolen kisses, and he was drunk on their taste. He couldn’t go back, not now.He’d miss the soft bed and hot bath, but no amount of comfort was worth staying and seeing the future there through.

He rode hard, leaving the town far behind until he ended up here, deep in the woods with the frogs and the deer and the whistle of wind between the trees.

It wasn’t cold, but the winds blew harsh and wild. It was far too much for a fire, so Kenma made do. He’d purchased his cloak from a small merchant town he’d passed through four days back. It was specially made for this kind of travel, thick and large. Kenma was confident that even Kuroo could swish it over his shoulders, and the hem would still kiss the ground. Needless to say Kenma swam in it, draping along the sides of his horse like he truly was a runaway child.

He’d kept it folded up and tucked away, save for protection from the rain. He’d used it as a makeshift pillow, a blessing fit between his head and the thickly rooted ground. He had no doubts that he could still ball some of it up and keep it tucked around him with room to spare.

For now, however, he huddled against the trunk of this tree, and stared at the stone ring he’d built in preparation for the light he was no longer allowed to have.

The world was wide beyond the walls he grew up in, and in the dark it felt twice as deep.

He didn’t know how much longer he had to go.

His hand drifted to the pendant; it was the best source of heat he had, warmed through like a hotstone thumping against his chest. It hummed like a second heart, beating along to someone Kenma had yet to meet.

He planned on asking Akaashi how this worked when he got in. He wondered if Akaashi had a similar pendant, or if the necklace was the homing pigeon to Akaashi’s roost. Or if it was like the route to market drilled into a child’s head again and again so the child would never get lost when returning home.

Maybe it was something else altogether. A lover running on blind faith, putting their trust in their other to guide their feet and to keep them from stumbling.

It hadn’t kept Kenma so far. His boot had found many stones on the path. By the time he got to Akaashi, his palms would be cut to ribbons, his knees bloodied and bare.

Akaashi, a powerful mage with the face of a wood nymph, if Bokuto was to be believed. Kenma almost had the nerve to ask if Bokuto dreamed the whole man up. He sounded too good to be true.

Time would tell. One moment at a time would take him there.

He counted out the pulses of heat from the pendant, curling his thin fingers around it, letting his body sop up the spare warmth.

As soon as the first breath of morning light crested over the horizon, Kenma would gather himself and continue on. He would take the mask of indifference and strength he’d been taught over his life, and pull it back over his face. He’d straighten his shoulders and press on.

If his mother could see him right now, curled up like a child against the dark and the loneliness… She’d be disappointed. This is the kind of thing he’d been prepared for his whole life. Perpetual loneliness, though he was intended to be surrounded with people in her version of the tale. If she had her way, he’d have a husband at his side, a crown on his brow. He’d shiver under the stress, but he would always be warm. He’d clench his jaw, and he would never show weakness.

He’d never…

He’d never cry.

Kenma scrubbed over his hot cheeks with cold fingers and buried his nose in the tops of his knees.

Dawn would come, and he’d be off again. 

By the time he’d leveled off his breathing, Kenma had fallen asleep.

-

"Did you and Kenma plan his route?"

The question had been eating at Kuroo for days. The sheer possibility that Kenma hadn't even made it to Akaashi's — that he was out in the middle of nowhere lost, or worse dead — was a very real possibility.

Bokuto finished taking a drink, gasping as he wiped his mouth. "I gave him my pendent, he'll be okay."

"Oh." Kuroo went back to searching through his bag for a leftover apple, nodding to himself. He's got a pendent, he was perfectly okay—

Kuroo's head jerked up to find Bokuto perfectly at ease with himself, rooting through their food satchel. He came up with a bit of dried meat. He gestured with it towards Kuroo, his lip poking out.

"You want some?" he asked.

Kuroo bowled right over him. "What do you mean, pendant?"

He watched Bokuto's brow pinch together in thought. "Oh! It's how I get home." He drew his finger in a curve down his chest to demonstrate a necklace.

Kuroo couldn't begin to fathom what the hell he was talking about. "How do you get home?" he pressed.

“Love guides me" he said with a cheeky grin.

“Try again.”

“Oh. Well, I usually have the pendant.”

"How is something like that supposed to help you get to Akaashi?" Kuroo demanded. He was going to get dizzy if they kept talking in circles like this.

“How can a messenger pigeon know where to go?” He spread his hands, very satisfied with his answer, even with Kuroo staring at him.

“Because they’re _trained from birth._ And they’re smart,” Kuroo pointed out. Bokuto’s eyes popped open, his head cocking to the side like an owl.

“Well,of course I knew that” he huffed, slumping back.

“You should use examples you know,” Kuroo advised. He flipped his pack open and peered inside. "You have the route memorized, don't you?"

Bokuto already had a piece of leathered meat between his teeth. He rolled a carefree shoulder. "Not the specifics. The pendant is handmade, enchanted at every step of its creation. You know, Kuroo, some would say magic is _more_ reliable than a map."

Kuroo was certain that no one would say that. He was sure it wasn't even a thought in a sane person’s mind.

He gave up his endeavor, closing the bag again. The pack was as empty of food as his stomach. He pushed himself up and went to inspect the plum tree further nestled in the edge of their makeshift campsite. “That isn't a very good explanation,” Kuroo told him, matter of fact. “You don’t know where we’re going, do you?"

“I do!” he protested, pushing up to his elbows. “Kind of. Roundabouts.”

“If I handed you a map, could you tell me where we’re headed?"

He pursed his lips, staring down Kuroo for all he was worth. "Hand it over," he said, sitting upright with a soft groan. "Let me see."

Kuroo fetched the map and laid it flat on the ground between them. "We're about here. A day's ride from this little farming village," he demonstrated, swirling his finger around the inked roads. "Now, if we can't use your magical gut feelings, Bo, where are we going?"

Bokuto ripped off a piece of dried meat and popped it into his mouth. "Easy," he scoffed, puffing out his chest as he rose to the challenge. "Akaashi is in one of three places, which means Kenma is on his way there, but he's probably already gotten there since he was travelling pretty light. Bokuto tapped on a patch of unmarked forest with his pointer finger. "This is one. It's Akaashi's favorite."

"Those woods are unmarked," Kuroo pointed out. He crossed his leg under himself and propped his chin on his palm. "You'll get lost in there faster than a drowner can lick their lips at women going for a bath."

Bokuto hummed. "Probably. Those woods are scary, changing all the time. Not too sure I can get there on my own either." Bokuto looked up to meet his stare, but simply shrugged his shoulder. "I go on gut feelings, don't think too hard and you'll get through. And I always have my pendent to guide me."

"Which Kenma has."

"Exactly!" Bokuto laughed, the sound deep and rich, devoid of the anxiety that was beginning to bubble in Kuroo's gut. "So besides there, he could be beyond this mountain passage, but that's odd for this time of year unless he was on important business." He swished his mouth to the side, thinking. "He usually travels there in the springtime, after the world thaws out. But in the oncoming winter, he settles here." _Here_ was a little place, just off the rivers. 

It wasn't quite as south as Kuroo had expected of a seasonal traveller. Maybe it was for that important business, like Bokuto said. Relatives, or nobles who valued a sorcerer's opinion and grace. They weren’t uncommon, especially in places like Inarizaki. As far as Kuroo could remember, there were several well-established sorcerers in the courts to counsel the king.

Nekoma was an odd man out. They thought themselves modern. Kuroo wasn’t sure when they had begun to lose touch with the rest of the world.

Bokuto caught his attention again as he traced a path back up the mountains. "And then he works his way back up. By summer he's in the woods again. You know, if everything's gone to plan and he hasn't gotten caught up with anything." He finished, looking at Kuroo expectedly, his eyebrows raised.

Nodding, Kuroo took one of his plums, rolling it between his fingers. "So we head to the woods."

"Exactly!" He scooped up the map and folded it along the creased lines.

"The unmarked, shifting woods?" Kuroo prompted.

"We'll deal with them when we get there."

"Yes, that's very reassuring," Kuroo said with a sigh.

"I'm glad you think so!" Bokuto laughed, tossing the map so it slapped against Kuroo's chest. Kuroo reached over to ruffle Bokuto's hair before pushing him away.

"Finish up," he told him. "We've got to get going."

Bokuto made a dismissive sound, waving his hand.

"Y'know," Bokuto muttered through a mouthful, "you sure act kind of clueless for someone who grew up on magic. Kenma’s more adept than you are, and he’s learnt everything from books while hiding under covers. It's weird. Everyone I've ever met from Inarizaki is at least comfortable with layman's terms. You've always been shy around it, even with me."

They should have been kin from the very beginning, Kuroo knew. Bokuto, a magic user in such a wide pool where it was looked down upon, and Kuroo, someone who grew up in an area known for its magic and sorcerers. Yet the divide was there. Two misfits unsure how to make their similarities work for them.

Such piercing eyes Bokuto had. How so many people were fooled into thinking Bokuto was nothing but a bumbling fool was a mystery to Kuroo. Sure, Bokuto had his foolish moments, but there was no denying the sharpness hidden in his eyes.

"I was never put to this kind of thing when I was small," he offered.

Bokuto peered close at him. "You grew all the way up in Inarizaki and never once tried to use magic?"

Kuroo froze, his face heating. "I never said—I _can't,"_ he corrected. "I was never able to. Just couldn't get the hang of it."

"Oh yeah?" Bokuto's face was laden with familiar surprise. "Wow," he hummed, his expression melting into something more devious. "Never knew there was something Kuroo stuck his hands into that he wasn't good at."

Kuroo scoffed, kicking Bokuto's calf. He felt absolutely no guilt when Bokuto cried out much more dramatically than the force called for, sticking his lip out in a pout. "Some things just don't happen no matter how much you try to make them." He stowed his things and flopped to the ground, cushioning his head with folded hands. "When something is so much a part of life, no one bothers to explain it to you. They just expect you to catch on."

Bokuto flicked a plum towards him. It bounced from his stomach to the ground. He felt along his side for it. When he found it, he rubbed it across his shirt to wipe away the dirt clinging to the skin.

"So," Bokuto crowed, crawling forward so he could lay down crossways from Kuroo with his head cushioned on Kuroo's stomach. Kuroo blinked down at him, his free hand hovering in the air over them. It settled on his chest, fingertips playing with strands of Bokuto's hair. "You can't draw water from an empty well. But there's magic in everything, right? When we're little we learn to feel it, recognize it, and draw from it. Kenma's people think that because magic is largely driven by emotion that it's dangerous." He tipped his head back, letting Kuroo see that cocky smirk. "Not so. Sure, it can be dangerous, but the world has a way of balancing itself back out after a disturbance. Sometimes a disturbance _is_ the balancing out."

Kuroo's face must have shown that he was getting muddled, because Bokuto paused.

He craned his neck up, casting around for an example. His eyes dropped to the plums in his hands and he brightened. “Like this!” He held one up between his forefinger and thumb. “When a bird eats the plum, the seed is carried away, right?” He made a little whooshing sound and gestured with the little plum. “When it’s dropped out, it falls in the dirt. And there it grows. Nobody is really sure how long it will grow before it bears fruit. Or if that fruit will be good at all. What matters is the seed, get it?"

He bit off half the plum and dug into the remaining half for the seed. "It’s like that. Good or bad intentions left to bloom on their own until you either have delicious harvests, or wormy fruit and a bad harvest.”

“Good or bad intentions.”

Bokuto turned over so he was propped up on his elbows. "Sure. Haven’t you ever wished harm on anyone?” It was an innocent question, no edge for Kuroo to cut his teeth on. “Sometimes when someone is wronged, or angry, or maybe just a bad person, it starts out the same way. A wish or a request or an idea. It can come around in a bunch of ways. Famine or drought, a monster to attack the village. Like a rotting wood, it's only a matter of time before the tree falls." He flicked the seed into the grass. "Just like with good intentions. Happiness because of a healthy baby, or someone important to you coming home after a long time. The seed is taken and sent along to bless someone later."

"With good rains," Kuroo guessed, "bountiful crops and healthy children."

Bokuto smiled at him, bright as anything. "Wow," he marvelled, "old dogs can be taught new tricks."

"If they can teach you, they can teach anybody," he huffed, palming Bokuto's face away. He sat up and took up the map again. "If Akaashi is really in those woods, we need to take the northern route."

Bokuto groaned, laying on his face. "Go by _feel,_ Kuroo."

Kuroo scoffed, eyes on the map. "Would you look at that. A merchant town not far off target."

Bokuto sprung up as easily as he could. "Think they got an inn?"

"Let's drop in and find out."

-

Never again would Kenma take a bed for granted.

He felt it even before he opened his eyes. His body ached like petrified wood, just begging to cry out at the smallest shift of his spine.

Tipping himself away from the tree felt like a mistake, but it was necessary. He groaned, his face screwing up as he did.

The late morning sun shone through cracks in the branches above, dripping down like molten gold. He cursed aloud, looking at the position of the sun in the sky. So much for riding at dawn.

The spot he’d picked the night before was a small clearing between a thick old tree and two younger ones, just big enough for Kenma, his horse, and… well, there was meant to be a fire. He could perhaps make one now, but there wasn’t much use, as he had nothing to cook over the flames.

As for his horse—

Kenma, who was scrubbing his knuckles into his eyes, froze before whipping to look around the clearing.

His horse was gone. He’d remembered to tie her lead down, she should have held secure unless she was taken – even then, Kenma’s bag and coin purse remained untouched. Surely a thief would have gleaned every reward possible, especially from such a seemingly vulnerable target.

Stories of shifty woodland spirits popped into his mind. Warnings whispered to little kids to discourage them from wandering too far into the woods. The hairs on the back of his nape stood on end, eyes poking into him like quills.

The wind whistled through the trees and sent goosebumps up his arms.

Deft fingers unbuckled the knife strapped to his thigh and slipped it from its sheath. The blade was sharp, but Kenma only knew that it would do fuck-all against spirits. He’d be willing to find out, if to buy himself a moment to make a break for it.

A rustling in the leaves jerked him around, his entire body falling into that familiar defensive position he’d practiced with Kuroo.

The pendant was a steady heat against his chest, pulsing nearly in-time with his heart.

The rustle came from behind the old tree. It’s thick trunk was the only thing between Kenma and _whatever this was._

A rabbit, he hoped. A misguided deer. Something to scare off rather than fight.

He was met with none of those things. A figure emerged from behind the tree, tall and slim, with fluffy dark hair piled atop its head.

It looked to be a man, but everyone knew that spirits could take on any shape that pleased them. This could be their favorite form of the moment, a clever trick to disarm before they feasted upon innocents and ate their fill.

The spirit caught his eyes, blinking in surprise. It looked Kenma up and down, taking pause at the knife.

“Ah,” it murmured, flicking its eyes up to meet Kenma’s. “You’re Kenma, aren’t you?”

Kenma frowned. “You’re not supposed to give your name out in the woods like this,” he said, neither confirming nor denying.

Its eyebrows jumped, a little amused smile playing at the corner of its mouth. The form this… _whatever_ took was pretty, with delicate features and sharp, knowing eyes. “I was looking for you this morning,” it said, closing the gap between them and only stopping when Kenma thrust his knife at him threateningly. “This,” it said, tapping its chest in the exact spot where Bokuto’s pendant hung around Kenma’s neck, “it’s mine. I came to see that you didn’t fall into the river.”

Kenma stared at him, his lip curling. “Akaashi!?”

The spirit — Akaashi, _perhaps —_ nodded. “You found me,” he congratulated.

“Why am I supposed to believe you?” he asked.

Akaashi’s eyebrows jumped, and he considered the question. “You came here to meet me,” he pointed out.

Kenma scowled at him. He didn’t know enough about this type of creature to know whether or not they read minds.

“Alright. Should I tell you everything Bokuto has ever told me about you?”

Kenma paused, drawing back a half a step.

Akaashi’s smile was devious. “There’s quite the list, Your Highness.”

Kenma hissed, and dropped his arm, tucking the knife back in its sheath. “Don’t you dare,” he said, the tips of his ears already hot.

“Come on, then.” Akaashi turned away, scooping up a basket Kenma hadn’t seen him carry. “Let’s head back.” He picked up Kenma’s pack before picking his way through the trees. Kenma was left with little else to do but grab his cloak off the ground and follow after him.

“What happened to my horse?”

“I took her for a drink of water,” Akaashi answered. “She’s tied. I’ll go and get her once I show you back.”

Kenma bundled the cloak in his arms and traipsed after Akaashi, following him through the woods.

“You were right, thought,” Akaashi said after a while, breaking the awkward silence that built between them. Kenma jerked his head up to look at Akaashi, who was already glancing at him. “You shouldn’t give your name out. Especially in woods like these.”

“You laughed when I said that,” Kenma pointed out critically.

Akaashi shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, so I did.” Silence filtered between them, and it took all Kenma had not to cringe at its sound. Strange. This was so strange.

A little longer, and they’d cleared a treeline into a small clearing where a little cottage sat. It looked quaint and cozy. Kenma could imagine Bokuto staying in a place like this. He could definitely see Akaashi calling it his home.

Akaashi's footsteps stalled behind him. Kenma turned to check on him and in return Akaashi pushed Kenma’s things back into his arms, along with the little basket.

He looked up to meet Kenma's eyes. "I'll take care of your horse," he said, "you can go inside and wash up."

Kenma's eyes dropped to his hands, staring at the griminess of his fingers and the dirt caked under his nails. Now that Akaashi had called attention to it, Kenma felt the dried sweat and the dirt covering him in a fine layer.

It was a rare thing for a prince to feel so exposed under the eyes of another. Worse than that was the itch of self consciousness curling into the top of his spine and tingling at his fingertips.

He nodded as Akaashi told him where the water was, and again the cloths. He stood dumbly as Akaashi excused himself to head around the house, only remembering to move once he was out of sight.

The cottage was small, but in good repair. The shuttered windows were thrown open to let in the morning sun and the spring breeze. Herbs were hanging from the rafters, perfuming the air in a way that reminded Kenma of sneaking into the kitchens for food while the cooks prepared for a special occasion. He found the basin and pitcher of water exactly where Akaashi had said and set about washing his hands and face.

He could hear the other man outside through the open window. Kenma probably could have spied him out if he didn't have his eyes so focused on his task.

He shook his hands dry and let the water drip from his face to his collar as he took a look around. There was a second room just beyond, but Kenma didn't dare take a look yet. There was a bookcase filled with books and tiny trinkets alike. Some were carved from wood, others made of twisted branches or stitched cloth. Pretty little busywork for a man with little else to do, Kenma supposed.

There was no farm work in this kind of place, surrounded by thick trees and sparse sunlight. Kenma knew very little to do with the technicalities of livestock and crops, but he thought that he should've been able to see them on the way in.

Akaashi didn't look like a farmer, either. He was soft and fair in a way that was very familiar to Kenma.

He thought that it would be very easy to imagine such a man as Akaashi in the inner courts. He was beautiful, and so far the aloft expression he wore and the stories of him that Bokuto was so keen on sharing... it made Kenma feel worryingly close to home.

He picked up a little thing, of feathers twined over carved wood to resemble something like an owl. Huge painted eyes stared up at him, and he suddenly felt watched.

Kenma felt the hairs of his nape stand on end, and he whipped around to find Akaashi shutting the door behind himself. He glanced at Kenma as he pulled his boots off, leaving them in a pile next to the door.

And then he looked Kenma up and down with a strange frown. "Oh," he pointed a finger at Kenma's feet. "I would appreciate it if you take your boots off in the house."

Kenma blinked at him and dropped his chin to his chest to survey the damage. Sure enough, he'd tracked mud all over the clean floor.

"I didn't think about it," he confessed. He had his foot half-lifted off the ground before he realized he still had the tiny owl in his hand. He straightened, and replaced it on the shelf, all too aware of the heat flooding his cheeks. "Sorry." He wasn't sure if he was apologizing for the mud or prodding into Akaashi's things without his permission.

Or the inconvenience of coming here at all. Surely Akaashi was busy with his own work, and now here Kenma was placing himself into strange hands, expecting to be given everything he had expected but had forgotten to ask for.

Bokuto had been all too eager to help Kenma flee, but what was supposed to happen in the aftermath? Was Kenma to live with them, a sorry plight on the lives of two bystanders?

Akaashi's voice broke through the thoughts pounding between his ears. He went to wash his hands, too, before doing away with the water Kenma had left in the basin. "It's fine," he told him over his shoulder. "I just don't like scrubbing floors, so I try to limit it as much as possible."

Kenma bobbed his head, treading lightly to the door to remove his own boots. He lined his up next to Akaashi's haphazardly tossed.

Every etiquette lesson that had ever been forced upon him in his twenty years failed him at that moment. What was he supposed to do now that he was fidgeting with his fingers next to the door post. Offer to scrub the floor? He withered at the thought.

Perhaps he was supposed to apologize again? The first one felt foreign on his tongue, almost chalky as he spoke it.

He swallowed down both options, continued to fidget as his toes wiggled against the floor in quiet awkwardness.

Akaashi didn't seem to mind. He took the quiet in stride as he went about clearing away books and scattered papers from around the table.

"I had everything ready for guests," he started conversationally, looking through two pages before stacking them up on the rest. "But Bokuto usually comes two days earlier than you did, so I..." He gestured around. "I got comfortable again, I apologize."

"You don't have to," Kenma said, frowning. He watched Akaashi put his things away, unable to let his attention stray.

"Well," Akaashi hummed. "It's no palace, but some runaways have it worse." There was a tiny upturn at the corner of his mouth, and _oh,_ Kenma realized, that must have been a joke.

When Akaashi told Kenma to take a seat, he obediently slid into a chair. His posture was straighter than anything his tutors had ever been able to get out of him. Kenma hadn't cared enough about acting proper around his tutors, or the nobles in court. There was something about Akaashi, though, that made him want to draw on every bit of that well of best behavior he'd ever learned.

What he couldn't exactly parse out, was _why._

Akaashi was his host, graciously letting Kenma stow himself away from the eyes of the world under his stewardship. Akaashi was an accomplished sorcerer, with knowledge that Kenma was eager to drink deep of, to bury himself in until he could soak up no more.

Akaashi was also Bokuto's... lover? His promised? His partner?

Bokuto had spoken so much about Akaashi for so long that Kenma felt that he already knew the man. It almost felt dishonest, to stand before the man with such knowledge about him and his inner workings when Kenma was new and unknown to him.

He was almost scared to open his mouth for fear of mentioning something like how he was exactly as handsome as Bokuto had been telling them, or to ask what kinds of plants made his eyes swell so Kenma could avoid them in the future.

Up until this morning, Kenma had felt as if he'd known Akaashi his entire lifetime. But now that he was here? He couldn't think of a single thing worth saying. Not one question to prompt Akaashi's own thoughts along.

He sat at the table, staring at the wood grain as Akaashi stared. Kenma felt small under his stare.

"Did you have a hard journey?" Akaashi asked, finally breaking up the silence between the birds trilling outside.

Kenma took hold of the olive branch offered to him with quick fingers. "I don't like travelling," he told him.

"Ah. Well, that does put more stress on someone." He stood up, wiping his hands on the front of his shirt. "Are you hungry, then? You didn't have breakfast, right?"

He shook his head, but Akaashi was already across the room. "Put a fire in the fireplace, I'll make something."

"Oh. Okay." He went to the little fireplace. There was kindling on old ash, and a few logs in ric next to the fireplace. Kenma didn't know how to use a flint and steel, but he would turn his back to Akaashi and hope he wasn't watching while he tried to figure it out.

Well, he would, if he could find where Akaashi kept such things. He frowned, looking up at the little shelf at the mantle, finding nothing useful.

"What are you looking for?" Akaashi asked.

Kenma tossed a dry look over his shoulder. "You wanted me to light a fire."

Akaashi blinked at him. "Do you do that by looking at the mantle?" he asked, and that definitely wasn't curiosity plucking at his voice. Kenma couldn't tell if Akaashi was mocking him, or sincerely just sounded that dry so often.

With so little to go off of in terms of interpreting his tone, Kenma had to wonder how Bokuto had stuck by his side for so long.

Sure, once Bokuto set his mind to something it was impossible to dissuade him, but Bokuto was also awfully damn moody. Kenma had lost count of the times he had said something with a less than kind tone, sending Bokuto into a slump for hours on end.

Kenma just couldn't imagine Bokuto taking Akaashi's flat tone as a positive. Maybe that's where the stubbornness kicked in.

"Where is your..." He mimicked striking the steel in a lazy gesture. His hands dropped back to his sides as if they were made of lead. "I was looking for them."

Akaashi made a face at him, his brows pinching together. "Bokuto mentioned that you were good at creating fire," he said, tone thoughtful.

Kenma's hands froze at his sides as his shoulders tensed. Magic. He hadn't even considered using it. He was in front of a stranger, and up till now, Kenma's magical ability had been strictly forbidden.

But he was here now, with the man slated to be his teacher, and he hadn't even thought once about using his magic.

"I might have misunderstood him," Akaashi went on, raising his hands between them. "I can do it." He rounded the table, and Kenma took in a big breath.

"No, I can do it," he protested, turning back to the fireplace and dropping to his knee.

Akaashi made a noise in the back of his throat, but Kenma didn't bother to look back at him. Instead, he reached into the fodder and buried his hand in the middle. It took a second of concentration, especially as he could feel Akaashi's eyes on him, but eventually he felt the pull at his fingertips. It was a crackle, and then the heat of a soft new flame. The fire licked out of his fingertips until the rest of the wood caught. He pulled his hand from the fireplace. His skin was ashen but completely unscathed.

Akaashi squatted beside him, his elbows on his thighs. He continued to observe Kenma's face, and Kenma met his eyes after perhaps a second too long. "Why didn't you do that in the first place?"

Kenma shrugged his shoulder. "I forgot."

"Forgot?"

"I usually only use magic when I'm by myself," he told him. His eyes fell to the little lock of hair flipped out over Akaashi's ear. Akaashi nodded slowly, he looked in thought.

Eventually he hummed, and brushed the floor with his fingertips as he stood up. "You don't have to hide it here," is what he said, letting Kenma stare unseeingly across the room. "It's just you and me. Even later, when the others arrive, you can do what you want. But I hope you never feel like you have to hide your abilities when you're with me."

"It's just a habit," Kenma muttered, feeling like a scolded child, especially since he was still on the floor. He pushed himself to stand and brought himself to look Akaashi in the eye. "I won't hide it anymore."

"Good." He nodded and turned back to the table.

Kenma watched him go, unable to swallow around the knot in his throat. This was the Akaashi Bokuto spoke so highly of. Thoughts of guards and suspicion had been cast completely from his head. Akaashi spoke of a future, of letting Kenma stay as long as he was able.

"Now, have you ever made bread? You're not a prince out here, you're going to have to learn how to do some things you've probably never had to do before."

Kenma took it all back. He wasn't gonna last long here at all.

“No, I haven’t,” Kenma told him.

"You know, Bokuto's told me a lot about you."

Kenma winced. "You believe him?" he asked cautiously.

Akaashi eyed him. "I didn't even tell you what he's said."

“I don’t know what he would even say about me.“

Kenma's ears burned and his mind raced with a hundred possibilities, a hundred different stories that Bokuto could have shared with Akaashi. Akaashi, the one who Bokuto had been bound with longer than Kenma had fully understood what such a thing meant.

Kenma had let himself forget for a moment. Akaashi was Bokuto's — and Kenma was the one stealing precious moments with him fueled by touch and hunger and secrecy.

Depending on whether Akaashi was a jealous lover, Kenma's time here could be very limited.

Akaashi measured flour out onto the table. Kenma stood near as he did, but certainly didn’t volunteer for anything as Akaashi went through the motions of adding ingredients. “He told me things that stood out to him,” Akaashi said.

Kenma let out a quiet laugh. “That could be anything.”

“It could, couldn’t it? Don’t worry, he’s never said anything terrible about you.”

“Oh.”

“Would you have taken it badly if he had?”

“It would be awkward to come here with a bad impression already in your mind,” Kenma replied, voice tight. He’d dealt with plenty of those. Preconceived notions were a part of his lot in life.

"First impressions are important," Akaashi agreed, "but they're also often misplaced." Kenma replayed the scene they both lived through just an hour ago. “Here, knead it like this.” He demonstrated for a moment, working through the already put-together ball of dough before moving aside to let Kenma try.

Kenma pulled his sleeves up, hating every second as he tried to copy Akaashi’s movements. "You're taller than I thought you'd be."

"That so?" Akaashi asked, lifting an eyebrow. "You're exactly as I imagined you'd be."

Kenma froze. His sleeve slipped from his elbow to dip into the spare flour. Akaashi clicked his tongue and reached over to pull it back for him. He caught Kenma's eyes. Seeing them from this distance almost made Kenma pull back in shock. That smile plucked at Akaashi's mouth again, clever and twice as teasing.

"Bokuto paints very descriptive pictures, you know," he went on. Kenma’s mind raced with exactly what the hell _that_ could mean. Akaashi finished folding up Kenma's sleeve and patted the fabric down. Akaashi tucked a spare strand of hair behind Kenma's ear, eyes lighting up with amusement when it fell right back down. "You do sometimes look like a skulking cat."

He pulled away, then, leaving Kenma's brain a moment to fully catch up.

When it did, he scowled down at his flour and continued to pull through what would hopefully one day turn into bread.

After a few minutes, he was beginning to lose steam. His arms _ached,_ all the way up to his shoulders. He couldn't imagine doing this daily. He also couldn't imagine this lumpy, wet mess to become anything, much less breakfast.

Akaashi sat at the far end of the table, looking content as he scribbled down a note or two from the book open at his side. The book was on the thinner side, more the kind of thing Kenma used to toss at Kuroo when he was being insufferable.

As far as first impressions went, Kenma had no idea where to place Akaashi. He was dry, and sometimes witty. He had no problem with putting Kenma to work as soon as he walked in the door, but didn't make it a grueling task.

Kenma knew what kind of person was through Bokuto's eyes, lovesick though they were — now was his time to finally meet him through his own. Akaashi stood up and wiped his hands before coming to see Kenma's work.

"Pinch it like that," he directed, "let me see how it's coming." Kenma did as he was told, taking a piece and lifting. Akaashi watched the dough stretch and nodded. "That's enough, let it rest a while." He spared Kenma a smile, and Kenmawas helpless but to let his heart flutter. "Of course, we'll really find out how you did when it bakes, but so far it looks as though you're on the right track."

If Kuroo were here, he would say something about Kenma's delicate royal stomach, and that he was on a strict diet of _only the best possible foods, Akaashi._

Kuroo, Kenma was sure, would have no problem slotting himself into this little cottage, with this handsome stranger. He would probably have already had Akaashi laughing, and maybe a rabbit strung up for breakfast.

Kenma hoped that they got word from them soon. Surely Kuroo would have returned by now. Now they played the waiting game, just aiming for the perfect opportunity to slip away right alongside Kenma.

He tried to picture them together, feigning ignorance of Kenma's disappearance.

He wondered if Kuroo was angry when he found out. Kenma figured that he would get a lecture when they were reunited about safety, and how he should have taken someone with him—

It would be pretty annoying, but Kenma had been subjected to lectures all his life, he was sure he would survive. He would bear it though, especially if this was his reward.

Sad flatbread and a tiny cottage surrounded by trees were strange things to think of so fondly and hope for in the future, but Kenma couldn't help but feel that things were finally beginning to move in the right direction.

-

Even if the merchant village had been unfamiliar, finding the inn would have been easy. It was nestled in the middle of the busy town, giving an inviting door to drunkards stumbling down the road from the pub, or from those browsing the merchant stalls.

The center of town was reserved for those very stalls, a wide space filled with booths of peddlers and masters of their trade.

The positions and wares changed as people came and went, always offering something new and exciting.

Bokuto had seen the merchant village before. Hell, he'd browsed through the booths himself, but it had been a few years ago. He hadn't been here since one of the very first times travelling home from Nekoma. He'd picked through their wares, dead set on returning with gifts for Akaashi to make up for their time apart. Nothing would _truly_ make up for it, Bokuto knew, but the little gestures help. And all is quickly forgiven each time as Akaashi gathers Bokuto up in his arms and kisses the morning light out of him.

Ah, damn. He missed him.

It’d been since late autumn since Bokuto had seen him last. While they had known Kenma seeking sanctuary with Akaashi was a possibility for a while now, Bokuto knew that it might be tricky putting it all into play. They were _both_ the type to be protective of their own spaces. Akaashi, because he fought tooth and nail for his little haven. Kenma, because he had never known any other way to live but through privacy given to him out of respect and privilege.

Bokuto hoped that they were getting along with each other. Akaashi was used to living on his own, and if not alone, then with Bokuto who already knew the finer protocols of living with Akaashi.

Kenma was used to having empty rooms and abandoned corridors to hide in when he was uncomfortable – neither of which Akaashi had to offer.

His hope was that he and Kuroo would arrive to find they’d become great friends, or at the very least friendly. He’d had very little time to really think about what he was going to do if when they got home Kenma and Akaashi were scrabbling like cats and birds, the house burning down around them.

Akaashi would rather have slept outside with the horses than let any disagreements burn down their home, but the idea was funny enough.

Kuroo knocked his elbow into Bokuto's side, already peering closely at him. "You look like you're enjoying your time,“ he teased. "What are you laughing about over there?"

Bokuto grinned at him. "On the contrary, I’m not enjoying myself at all," he tutted. "I’m about to lose my mind."

“I think you dropped it back in Nekoma, actually.”

Bokuto made a face at him, shoulder checking him off kilter. Kuroo fell back into step with him far too easily. 

“Shit, seriously,” Bokuto grumbled, pressing a palm to his growling stomach. He nabbed the little cloth-wrapped parcel in Kuroo’s hands, stopping in the middle of the road to carefully unwrap it in his hands. “I’m gonna wither away, yanno,” he muttered, crumbs spewing from his mouth.

Kuroo glared and cuffed him over the head. “Chew and swallow properly before you choke.”

“It’s not my fault!” Bokuto exclaimed, his words garbling through flaky crust and fruit filling. Kuroo glowered at him, and Bokuto made a show of gulping it all down, opening his mouth wide to show it off.

“Gross.”

Bokuto scoffed and stuck his leg out to try and trip him up.

Kuroo just took an even longer step, avoiding him altogether, the bastard.

If his ribs were just a day or so better, he would have launched himself on Kuroo’s back and made him carry him back to the inn.

He settled for fishing out another pastry instead.

“You’re not going to have any for when we leave,” Kuroo warned, even as he dropped back to take one for himself.

They'd already had their breakfast, hard bread and a rabbit Kuroo had caught. But Bokuto could hardly help it if his stomach had already gone through the measly little meal and turned in to eat itself in desperation.

Just as he was about to take this completely justified point to Kuroo, _Kuroo_ was stumbling, and all thought processes switched from _defend Bokuto’s mid-day meal_ to _catch Kuroo before he has an intimate meeting with the flagstone._

He barely got a steadying grip on him before Kuroo whipped around. Bokuto could see the curse on the tip of his tongue and jerked him back half a step away from the man that had crashed into Kuroo.

A man following up a small group of soldiers trimmed in Nekoma reds. His nose reached Kuroo's brow bone, and he held a smarmy sneer that showed _teeth._ "You oughta watch where the hell you're goin'," he said, voice dripping like a honied deer carcass, "you might end up bumping into the wrong person next time."

Bokuto laughed, slipping between them to throw an arm over Kuroo's shoulders. "Don't mind my friend here! He's just a little eager to get to the bars tonight."

"That so?" he asked, eyes scanning up and down them both. They lingered on Kuroo for perhaps just a second too long for comfort. Bokuto could practically hear the alarms ringing in Kuroo's ears, rebounding right into his own. “Try the one at the end of the road, to the north,” he suggested, “the ale’s as good as the company.”

Kuroo snapped back into himself, accepting the man’s words with a like minded energy. “Thanks, maybe we will.”

The man made an odd sound at the back of his throat and nodded a farewell before turning to get back to his troup.

Bokuto watched him go, narrowing his eyes. “Man, what’s up with that guy?” he muttered, already letting the man slip from his mind as a fruit vendor caught his eye.

"I've been thinking," Kuroo nudged him, leaning in to speak to his ear. "Have you ever used a tracking spell?"

Bokuto thumbed over the skin of a dark plum. These ones were half the size of his fist and practically bursting at the seams with juice. He picked up two and handed them to Kuroo as he fished out a coin to pay for them. "Yeah, I've done a few," he answered.

Kuroo glanced over his shoulder, and Bokuto kicked his ankle. He snapped to look back at Bokuto, instead of searching for the eyes that were boring holes into the back of their necks. 

"Mostly on little things like jewelry and lost treasures. Why?" Kuroo stared at him, only deepening Bokuto's wolfish grin. "You think Kenma's a little lost treasure, don't you," he cooed.

“Fuck off.” Kuroo’s hand smacked his face and pushed him away.

“My tracking spells are the greatest, I’m surprised that you even have to ask.” He sniffed, looking up and away as he puffed out his chest. “But, ah—I can’t.”

“Good then you can—what the hell?” Kuroo stopped short, moving bodily in front of Bokuto to chase his eyes. “What do you mean you can’t?”

“Okay, look. Since Kenma has the pendant I gave him, I can’t track him. As long as he carries it, he’s as good as gone. Don’t worry, Kuroo, we’ll get there soon enough. We don’t need a tracking spell.help like that.”

“What _good is that?!”_ Kuroo demanded. “You’ve got a tracking charm that can’t be tracked.”

Bokuto spluttered, his cheeks heating up. “It’s totally practical!” he yelled.

“What if you lose it?” Kuroo argued.

“Then I make another one?”

“Can you do that now? Surely we can find what you need in a place like this, right?”

“No?!” Bokuto hollered. “It takes _time,_ and a hell of a lot of it. If you _want_ to put us that far behind, then we can.” He set his jaw, his hand curling at his side. Kuroo flinched back, clenching his teeth.

“Let’s just continue, then.”

Kuroo brushed passed him, back in the direction of the inn. Bokuto followed, feeling eyes pinpointed on his back every step of the way.

Kuroo hitched his bag higher over his shoulder, sighing tight and long. “I trust you,” he said as Bokuto fell into step with him once more. “Take us there.”

“I will,” Bokuto vowed. “Just wait a little longer. And if you keep pushing me along, I might take off in the middle of the night, so be careful!”

Kuroo snorted. “As if you could go a day without seeing my pretty face.”

“Oh yeah?” Bokuto exclaimed, turning half away to look at anything _but_ Kuroo. “Maybe I’ll start right now!”

“Maybe I’m starting to see why Akaashi only lets you come home for a few weeks out of the year,” the knight harped on

“Oh _fuck off,_ Kuroo.” Bokuto pulled open the door to the inn, all too aware of the suspicious shiver pricking down his spine.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm working as hard as i can to get the next chapter completed, so again please bear with me!!
> 
> thank you to duck and jenna for beta'ing this super last minute. i owe you both edible arrangements and ily
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/bubblegumboku)


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